


Saiou week but it starts on Saihara's birthday and everything is late because I had exam

by unseeliekey



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: AAAAAaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA - Freeform, Despair Disease (Dangan Ronpa), Established Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, Sick Character, Too Much Dialogue as is usual for me, Trans Character, drabbles if u will, feeling like the puddle discord emoji tonight, ill add tags as i go <3, its MY fic and no one is cis, some of these fics may b a bit short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26340577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unseeliekey/pseuds/unseeliekey
Summary: “Join my organization.”Shuichi hums thoughtfully, and Kokichi can practically feel the sound hover between them. “But then who would catch you?”“No one! That’s the point.” Kokichi grins at him, slowly pulling his hand out from Shuichi’s shirt, moving it to brush over his cheek instead. “We could rule the world together.”“I think you’d get bored with no one to run after you,” Shuichi murmurs, pulling his hand back from Kokichi’s chest, too. “You like games too much to win one and stop playing.”a collection of all the fics i'm gonna do for saiou week! will i finish this? probably! am i late? yes but we're not going to address it!
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 30
Kudos: 230
Collections: Welcome to Saiou week!





	1. don't take me tongue-tied

**Author's Note:**

> ive never posted to a collaborative group before so if i fucked up!!! apologies for that!
> 
> the first prompt i picked was first kiss! i overindulged here. This is actually embarrassing.  
> I’m of the (mildly controversial, i think) opinion that established relationship fics r……. Really good. I want to write more of them, with plots outside of but affecting the relationship. I rlly like them. I think theyre sweet as hell. I think my first ousai fic was established relationship, actually!! But. im also gay and i Yearn and i write SO MUCH UNADDRESSED PINING. I’VE WRITTEN LIKE. ROUGHLY THREE HUNDRED AND A HALF? THOUSAND WORDS FOR THIS PAIRING AND HOW MUCH OF THAT IS KISSING? NOT ENOUGH. NOT ENOUGH.  
> Take roughly 4000 words of Just kissing to make up for it. Or make out for it. God its been a million years since ive kissed a boy :,) 
> 
> also worth noting here is! there's nothing explicit here, just a lot of kissing and being close but there is some stuff that could be interpreted in a mildly horny way, so. i'm not adding an underage tag or upping the rating bc i don't think i need to, but i have said they're in hopes peak and this is uh. they do be making out. BUT THIS IS NOT DIRTY look i just wanted to write descriptive kisses because i never have before and its hard and i. am going to stop typing now.

Autumn in Tokyo, sitting in Hope’s Peak’s overly curated gardens. In the cooler weather, most students chose to stay in the actual gardens inside the school, where it was insulated from the cold and the occasional patter of rain- which was what made the surrounding gardens outside, between the main school and the reserve course, the perfect place to hang out. 

Saihara, wearing gloves and a scarf that looked like just the right kind of fabric for someone to thread their hands through and nestle up in. Kokichi, next to him on the bench, sipping from a panta bottle with a crazy straw. Saihara, all light eyes and soft laughter whenever Kokichi said some completely dumb, inane, bullshit. Even in the grey air, with the chill around them, and Saihara’s soft voice, it feels just as vibrant as when Kokichi is flying through the city at night, surrounded by his best friends. Nine of the most exciting people he knows, dragging him around to commit crimes and flip through the air and get themselves in just a little too much trouble; and somehow Saihara is just as exciting.

They’re talking about their last class- it’s one of the rare moments Kokichi gets Saihara away from his stupid friends. Unlike him, who’s perfectly willing to order Iruma and her robot to fuck off to make time for his beloved- which always makes Saihara turn pink, earns him a muttered _“Ouma-kun…”_ of admonishment. Kokichi eats up any attention he gets- any day Saihara says his name is a good day, whether it’s a positive interaction or not. 

They’re just talking, and Kokichi is spinning a wild lie about his organization, and Saihara is pointing out the holes in his story with this tiny little smile, like he thinks it’s funny. Like he thinks Kokichi is funny. 

Kokichi’s not sure when his joke-flirting became real-flirting. He thinks it was after Saihara had the courage to speak out against his friends to clear up a case within the school, about Shirogane and her unfortunate connections to some bitch Kokichi didn’t like to think about. Saihara might be quiet, and soft-spoken, and thoughtful, and a little bit too dependent on his friends- but when he steps up and doesn’t let them push him around? Gee.  
(Maybe that’s why Kokichi bothers him a little more than other people. Maybe he likes seeing Saihara put his foot down, grow in confidence until he feels okay just rolling his eyes and saying “that’s a lie, Ouma-kun.” Or maybe he just likes having his eyes on him. Who knows?)

Anyway, they’re talking, and quarter of Kokichi’s brain is staring at Saihara’s mouth and a quarter of it is thinking about his next planned heist and another quarter is actually listening, and the last remnants of it are all split up in thinking about how nice Saihara looks in the kind of white sky, all covered by clouds, and preparing his next witty lie, and noticing little things about how his fingers twitch and how his cheeks crease, how there’s a fleck of mascara on his cheekbone. 

Saihara brings up something about their last class, suddenly accuses Kokichi of being the one who hid Iruma’s pencil case and sparked a twenty-minute argument between her and Momota that ended with both of them being thrown out of class. Kokichi, of course, has to refute this and protect his honor, and he accuses Saihara of stealing it instead.

Saihara shakes his head and sighs. “You’re impossible,” he says, and Kokichi can’t stop staring at his mouth.

He puts his drink down and moves a finger to his lips instead and he winks, and he says “Cmon, Shumai. Maybe at this point we should just give up on the whole rivalry charade and give into our passionate attraction for each other.”

And Saihara laughs, his eyes crinkling, his cheeks flushing a little redder, crab apples in the autumn air. 

And he says, “maybe we should.”

\--

So Kokichi and Saihara start dating, just like that. There’s a little more fumbling around later- _So are we?- What? Lovers? Narrative foils? Arch nemeses? Partners in crime?- I was thinking ‘boyfriends’. -_ But they sort it out relatively painlessly, minus a few mild murder attempts from both Momota and Harukawa. Akamatsu watches him closely, too, and despite being very supportive with her words, her doubt is obvious to anyone with half a brain- which, Kokichi supposes, is a big ask for most of his classmates.

But Saihara- Shuichi - sticks up for him as much as he sticks up for his friends, and he holds Kokichi’s hand when they walk between classes and when Kokichi, half in jest, dumps his books in his arms, he carries them. Kokichi brings him coffee on Wednesday morning as a joke and Shuichi looks at him like he hung the goddamn moon, and somehow he ends up bringing it every day after. Shuichi shares half his lunch in exchange for half of Kokichi’s shrimp chips. Kokichi reminds him to actually eat when they’re texting after school (which is even more than previously, now. He knows it’s probably honeymoon phase that they’ve been talking pretty constantly, but even before the big fess up of big Gay Feelings, they tended to have conversations that dragged out until one of them passed out- usually Shuichi.) On the weekend, they go on their first proper date, which, predictably, goes absolutely haywire and ends with them literally running to hide from their overenthusiastic classmates who refuse to let them have _any fucking privacy-_ but even that’s good, sprinting down the halls of the aquarium with their arms full of fish plushies Kokichi demanded from the gift shop, hiding and laughing between tanks.

So they date. And it’s good. It’s really good, standing at Shuichi’s side and glomping him with a 50/50 chance of being caught vs tumbling to the ground, messing with his papers and his hair and holding his hand.

But they have not kissed.

Part of it’s circumstance- Hope’s Peak keeps you busy, and Kokichi has ten lovely clowns to fuss over and Shuichi has, like, kind of a job. Plus, they both have friends that, in Shuichi’s case, are mildly concerned about his heart getting broken by the local supreme leader of evil/petty thief, and in Kokichi’s case, are incredibly nosy. It’s hard to snatch alone time, and when they do, they usually get distracted by conversation and tiny, tactile displays of affection. Shuichi’s hands tend to find their way into Kokichi’s hair or around his back. Kokichi’ss have a particular way they like to rest on the nape of Shuichi’s neck. Their fingers figured out the best way to link together after the third day, and sometimes it’s more than enough to sit with Shuichi’s head in his lap, or his legs kicked over Shuichi’s thighs. 

It’s not like it was on purpose, but somehow two weeks pass and it’s a Thursday after school and they’re in Kokichi’s dorm and miraculously, no one has bothered them yet. Probably because Thursday is such a boring day of the week- literally the most boring. Nothing ever happens on Thursday except things to make it be Friday quicker, like sports practice or study groups. 

But they’re in Kokichi’s dorm room, and robo-roommate Kiibo is out in one of the boring study groups, and Kokichi _may_ have implied certain unorthodox things were going on when he mentioned Shuichi was coming over earlier today, and Kiiboy is such a prude that the very mention of socks being removed had him squealing and saying he’d stay over with Iruma, instead. (Kokichi is not sure what he aims to achieve there. It’s certainly not avoiding any innuendo. Maybe he just doesn’t want to watch him and Shuichi be all lovey-dovey, which, fair.)

They’re in Kokichi’s room, in his king-sized bed (well, his bed and the robot’s shoved together. Kiibo doesn’t really sleep, anyway) with some dumb drama playing on Shuichi’s laptop, turned down just low enough for background noise. Shuichi is lying on his back, toying with a fidget cube as he explains something about his latest case. Kokichi is sitting upright, leaning back against the side of his stomach, occasionally cutting in with something equal parts unhelpful and observant- which is kind of his brand. 

It’s warm in the room, despite the way the wind buffets the dorm block from the outside- a space heater humming only a few feet away, the patterned blankets pulled up, study equipment that was only ever an excuse to hang out scattered all over the floor. An empty popcorn bowl at the foot of the bed. Soda by the side of it- grape for Kokichi, obviously. Vanilla cola for his gentleman caller.

Kokichi twists his body around and shuffles a teeny bit further up so he can lean over Shuichi, drama movie all but forgotten. Shuichi looks up at him, eyes flicking over his face, and pushes himself up against a pillow, a little more vertical. Kokichi does the opposite, leaning further forward and propping himself up on the crook of one arm.

"Hey," he says, watching Shuichi's eyes flutter around his face- his mouth, his eyes, away and back.

Shuichi's tongue darts out to wet his lips.   
"Hey," he says.

And then Kokichi doesn't say anything, and he doesn't say anything either, and they just keep looking at each other, Shuichi slowly dragging his eyes up to meet Kokichi's again. Somewhere off to his left, soft jazz music starts to play. The credits must be rolling by now.

Kokichi leans down, slowly. Shuichi doesn't move away. Putting his weight onto his elbows, Kokichi reaches out to cup Shuichi's jaw in his hands. Almost instinctively, Shuichi wraps an arm around his back, then reaches up, lightly feathering through his hair. It's not very hard to let his eyes flutter shut at the motions, to let himself sink forward, to press his thumbs just against the base of Shuichi's cheekbones.

And he kisses him. It's quick. And soft. And he can feel Shuichi smiling when he tries it again.

He’d kind of expected to make a complete fool of himself, when they did eventually pull themselves together, but it wasn’t like he was going to _google_ it or anything. Kokichi is not the “practice kissing on his pillow” kind of guy- he’s heard enough bad jokes about what he uses his cardboard cut out of Amami for, thank you very much. (It’s decoration, and it’s _funny,_ and sometimes he tells it stories in the middle of the ni- why is he thinking about that right now?)  
His mind doesn’t shut up, even now, running its own unhelpful little narrative, but it’s not too hard to ignore when he has Shuichi’s face in his hands, an arm wound around him to thread up through his hair, the other hand on his side. Kokichi leans over a little closer, their hearts only inches apart, and curls his fingers around the sides of his boyfriend's face. 

Somehow, he doesn’t embarrass himself- their teeth click, for a moment, and both their eyes flick open at the same time, and they puff out laughter in the space between their mouths, and then they’re kissing again- slow, open-mouthed, careful. Someone’s tongue is in someone’s mouth, and even that- that’s not _hard._ Kokichi spent most of his life assuming there was some secret technique to kissing- that some people were good at at it, and some people weren’t. He’d heard enough nightmare stories from Iruma about guys who kissed her like they were trying to shove their whole tongue down her esophagus.

(He’s got to stop thinking about his friends during this. Kokichi has to pull away to laugh again, and to his horror it comes out more like a giggle than a snicker, and Shuichi’s brows pull up and he looks at him like he’s- a kitten, or something, and Kokichi has to kiss him again before he can say anything. Oh, what a punishment.)

He’d thought it might be gross, a bit, the two of them inexperienced and stupid, but Shuichi’s tongue is warm and he doesn’t kiss like he’s- putting something in Kokichi’s mouth, or like he’s just laying back and whining, or like he’s trying to explore it, or anything like the bad fanfiction Kokichi will never admit to reading. Shuichi tastes a little like butter and his favored vanilla coke, and he kisses like. Like he’s just enjoying himself. Like that’s all there is- he wants his mouth on Kokichi’s and he wants his hand on the stretch of skin where his shirt rides up by his stomach and he wants to hear him breathe softly when their mouths briefly break before they meet again. 

Kokichi leans forward, his propped up elbows slowly sinking back in the bed- he’s really just laying over Shuichi now, hands on his shoulders to help keep him up. Shuichi pulls away for a moment and sits up, pressing a kiss to Kokichi’s forehead instead, (and why does that make his heart feel like it flipped inside out) and then flops back down again- on his side this time, pulling Kokichi with him. They curve like parentheses, foreheads pressed together, and Shuichi reaches out to take both Kokichi’s hands in his, linking their fingers together. For a moment, they just breathe.

“Hey,” Kokichi says, feeling almost light-headed. “Come here often?”

Shuichi laughs, squeezing both his hands. Kokichi squeezes back. “Not as much as I’d like to.”

“There’s nothing stopping you from coming over more, yknow,” Kokichi says, shuffling closer- his knee bumps with Shuichi’s, and for a moment both their legs twitch a little, and then, despite the apprehension in his chest, he sighs and shuffles up until they’re pressed right together, right down their middle, hands trapped between them. Shuichi flushes a little, and after a moment, shifts so that he has an ankle threaded between Kokichi’s. Kokichi waggles his eyebrows.

“Oh my god,” Shuichi says, laughing again, lifting his head to tap it back against Kokichi’s. “You’re impossible.”

Kokichi sticks his tongue out and watches the way those petrichor eyes flick back down to it. He grins. “So I’ve been told.”

“Can I-” Shuichi bites his lip. “Can I kiss you again?”

Something in Kokichi’s ribcage flutters like a little golden bird, spreading its wings out to tremble against the muscles there. “You don’t have to ask,” he mutters.

And Shuichi smiles, and his eyes dart away in embarrassment, but then they’re back again, looking at him, and the little bird has a stroke or something- because Kokichi thinks his whole body just freezes. “Yeah, but…” When Shuichi dips closer, tilts his head a little higher, their lips brush when he speaks. “It’s nice hearing you say it, Kokichi.”

 _One-hit K.O.,_ Kokichi thinks, dazed, as he opens his mouth and melts. 

Kokichi’s hands curl up against the sides of Shuichi’s chest, pressing and pulling at his shirt. Shuichi hums into his mouth, cups a hand against the back of his head, and pulls him closer, and Kokichi takes that as permission to push up the fabric and wriggle his sticky little fingers over his sides.His elbows are sticking up kind of awkwardly, and he’s hyperaware of the curve of Shuichi’s palm resting against the nape of his neck.   
Brushing his fingers slowly over Shuichi's sides, he takes careful note of the skin there, the same way he takes note of the slide of his mouth or the pressure of his hands. He dances patterns up his sides, almost-but-not-quite ticklish, smiles against his mouth when he squirms. Kokichi's fingers hover over the side of his binder, and when Shuichi doesn't do anything more than tilt his head and kiss him languidly, he sets his hand down against the fabric, tucked a little under the curve of Shuichi's arm and resting on his side.

Shuichi’s hand slides down to his lower back and Kokichi thinks he short-circuits. There’s no time to make a dirty joke or laugh or shriek, because his shirt must have slipped up at some point and now Shuichi’s hand is resting on the dip of his back, on the skin there, just above the waistband of his stupid skinny jeans.   
His fingers aren’t as cold as they usually are as they trace over the skin, palm just -fucking - milimeters away from Kokichi’s back, fingertips dancing in little circles, probably tracing love hearts or the kanji for his name, knowing Saihara, only there’s no chance in hell Kokichi could ever put the motions together, let alone comprehend them, when his brain is busy going _my ass my ass he’s practically touching my ass-_

Shuichi moves back just enough to laugh, and the breath of air tickles over Kokichi’s nose. “Is it a good thing when you inhale like that?” The amusement in his features dims a little, and his eyes soften. “You can let me know if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

Kokichi, who hadn’t realized he’d inhaled at all, glances down to where he’s shoved his hands right up Shuichi’s shirt. “Are _you_ uncomfortable?”

His boyfriend shifts a little, but doesn’t move his hand. “Um, I’d prefer if you didn’t take my binder off. Not. Yet. Or, uh. Anything lower. But… this is nice.”

“You can take my binder off,” Kokichi says, stupidly. 

Shuichi’s eyes crinkle. “I think it’s… really amazing how confident you are.” He nudges their noses together. “I want to be more like you.”

Kokichi has to bite down on his lip to temper his grin. “God had to give you dysphoria because if you felt more comfortable in your skin, you’d be too powerful.”

“God better watch out when I get top surgery, then.”

Kokichi snickers, and Shuichi joins in. He lifts up his knee a little, wriggling against Shuichi and playing with the hem of his binder- not lifting it, just. Tugging lightly with the fabric. Shuichi looks a little nervous for a moment, but he quickly relaxes, lifting his hand up to reach under his own shirt and grab one of Kokichi’s, lifting it up to set it back down on his chest- over the smooth fabric of his binder, over his skin. Over his heart.

“Can you feel it?” Shuichi asks quietly, his eyes flicking away from Kokichi’s like the contact became a little too much for him.

Kokichi splays his fingers out slowly, cupped around the slight curve of Shuichi’s chest.

“Yeah,” he whispers. Shuichi’s heart is fast. _Thump-thump-thump-thump,_ like the beat of a drum or a dog’s tail when it's trying not to jump up on you. “I-” And then he squirms up, wriggles his other hand out from under Shuichi’s side to grab the wrist leaning against his cheek and pull it under his own shirt, over his checker-patterned binder, where his own heart is beating just as fast.

They lay there for a little while, Shuichi looking down with his eyelashes dusting his cheeks, Kokichi trying to pretend he isn’t staring at him, hearts going _thump-thump-thump._

“You’re so cute,” Kokichi says, and when Shuichi’s face goes even pinker, he can physically feel his mouth curling up without his permission. “But that’s a lie. Shuichi is gutter sludge. I don’t find you attractive at all. I don’t think you’re pretty, or clever, or funny, or fun, and I don’t like hanging out with you or kissing you, and I never want to kiss you ever again.”

Shuichi rolls his eyes like his face isn’t currently the color of cherry blossom, like his mouth isn’t fixed in a grin, like one hand isn’t tracing patterns over Kokichi’s wrist and the other isn’t pressing against his heart. “If you want another kiss, you can just say so.”

“Huh? Didn’t you listen to me? I don’t ever want to kiss you again!” Kokichi clicks his tongue, shaking his head against the covers. “Bad, cruel, Shuichi. Not listening to your supreme leader when he expresses his displeasure.”

Shuichi laughs, fingers curling around Kokichi’s wrist and squeezing. “And how could I make it up to my supreme leader, then?”

“Join my organization.”

Shuichi hums thoughtfully, and Kokichi can practically feel the sound hover between them. “But then who would catch you?”

“No one! That’s the point.” Kokichi grins at him, slowly pulling his hand out from Shuichi’s shirt, moving it to brush over his cheek instead. “We could rule the world together.”

“I think you’d get bored with no one to run after you,” Shuichi murmurs, pulling his hand back from Kokichi’s chest, too. “You like games too much to win one and stop playing.”

“So cocky, detective,” Kokichi mumbles back, watching their hands as Shuichi plays with his fingers. “Maybe I’m just gathering intel while I wait for the opportunity to take over.”

Shuichi smiles, pressing their noses together. It’s so cheesy and stupid and Kokichi struggles to keep his expression cold. “And take all the challenge out of it?”

“I’m never challenged by anything,” Kokichi informs him. Shuichi’s eyes crease. Ugh. He twists his mouth as he reaches up, hand sliding over his cheek and into his hair, feathering through the soft tufts of it. (Shuichi’s shampoo smells like cocoa and smooth, wet wood.) “You should kiss me again.”

Shuichi raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t pull back and his eyes don’t lose their crescent, half-moon shape. “I thought you never wanted me to do that again?”

“I figured I’d indulge you for one last time,” Kokichi says, haughtily. He lifts his chin a little and closes his eyes, lets his bottom lip drop a little. “Go on.”

He cracks one eye open, just a smidge, to watch Shuichi’s eyes flick down to his mouth, to watch the way his smile melts from his face, watch him looking at Kokichi the same way he looks at his friends when they’re doing something particularly stupid, the same way he looks at his cat, the same way he looks at a positive review of one of his criminal psychology essays, flowers growing through cracks in the sidewalk, cups of coffee when he’s half asleep- the same way, and yet something new all at once. Kokichi’s never seen this expression before.

Shuichi leans in and kisses him, soft and slow and chaste, just a brush of lips. He pulls back, and Kokichi’s about to complain- that’s it? - when he leans in again. Shuichi kisses him a second time, and a third, and a fourth, each time pulling back to breathe before leaning back in, keeping them soft and brief.

Kokichi opens both his eyes fully, scowling. “I said one last time,” he says. 

“Yeah, but you were lying,” Shuichi replies, still with that same expression Kokichi doesn’t recognize, his own eyes jumping between Kokichi’s gaze and his mouth. “And you always say you’re indulging me when you want something- like when you want to go on a date, or to split a dessert, or to steal my coffee.” His breath puffs over Kokichi’s face, his eyebrows narrowing slightly- not in anger, but in thought. Like this, stupid, silly- like Kokichi’s dumb habits are just as important as any other deduction he’s made. And then they lift again, and there’s that smile, his mouth twitching up in the corners, tiny and shy. “It’s cute.”

Kokichi kisses him again, hands fisting in the front of Shuichi’s shirt to pull him close. When Shuichi puts his hand back down, he lays it flat against Kokichi’s lower back, fingers sinking into the skin like they belong there. Something warm and sickly sweet pools in his stomach, like honey, hot and fluid and distracting. Kokichi might drown in his own blood- not violently, but slow and warm and bright, bright red.

Kokichi kisses Shuichi, bites gently at his bottom lip, tugs at it, swallows the sound he gets in response- half gasp, half laugh. Shuichi’s other hand finds its way into his, pulling it from his shirt and threading their fingers together once more. His legs twitch forward, knees bumping, and Kokichi kicks at his shin with one socked foot. Shuichi kicks back. They pull away to snicker, foreheads against each other, and then they're tilting their heads and leaning back in and they're kissing and they're kissing and it's. 

Everything in Kokichi's life feels like it explodes into sparks. Things either go more disastrously than he could have planned for, or better than he could have imagined. (Hyperbole- he's gotten pretty good at planning for everything.) Things tend to fall apart and he miraculously pulls through with bravado and the skin of his teeth, or he goes soaring into brilliance without realizing it. His organization. His ultimate title. His friends. Shuichi. 

Part of Kokichi expected to accidentally bite him too hard or break his nose or have an allergic reaction to his toothpaste or suddenly discover he was a vampire. The other part kind of expected it to be a heat of the moment thing- passionate and messy enough to make up for any mistakes.

"Hey," Shuichi says, pulling back to kiss his nose- closing his eyes to let Kokichi return the gesture, to kiss his closed eyelids and his cheeks and his forehead. "What are you thinking about?"

Kokichi nuzzles against his jaw in a way that is so sappy and overly-affectionate that he'll have to claim it was a joke, later. "What a terrible kisser you are."

For a moment, Shuichi blinks, until he catches Kokichi's grin and rolls his eyes. 

"Impossible," he mumbles. "You're impossible."

Kokichi snickers and pulls him in again. "You like it."


	2. if i tremble, they're gonna eat me alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re shaking again.” That’s all the warning Kokichi gets before Saihara is hugging him- the movement is gentle and unsteady, but it’s enough to send the pair of them toppling sideways. “It’ll be okay! Aren’t you the one always having fun with the game?”
> 
> Kokichi laughs, snickering into Saihara’s shoulder. The normally-reserved detective is clinging onto him like a barnacle- it’s almost as funny as the idea he’s enjoying the game- which isn’t funny, it’s a great lie that he really believes in!
> 
> Kokichi’s laughter turns into something a little too shaky when his throat starts to get tight. He clutches right back at Saihara, clinging onto him and not-quite sniffling. Saihara laughs, too. Kokichi’s head hurts.
> 
> “You know,” he says, and another snicker breaks through. “You’re going to be so embarrassed about this when you feel better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS IS LATE. IT WAS. HARD.  
> hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhrrrrr this one was. tricky. this is one of those things that i want to write a 30k word slowburn for. I literally REQUIRE almost-not-quite intimacy in my ingame fics. Also sorry these have both been kokichi povs so far i am just in the Zone rn. hey you ever think about how kokichi was canonically in love with shuichi? you ever think about how its fucking canon that he wanted to be with him and how he couldn’t figure him out and how he trusted him as much as he could and how he wanted his attention so bad? yeah me too.   
> Also this is DEFINTELY unintentionally inspired by psychobabble, which is an excellent fic by an excellent writer who wrote some of my favorite saiouma and kokichi in general fics. The characterisation and style is. Amazing. I did not mean to kind of rip two different aspects of their plot from them here! But! I only realized when i was halfway through and actually thought of the fic for a different reason. Anyway go read that but brace your heart first.  
> ALSO ALSO: warnings for some kinda gross stuff. Like, having a fever gross, but also “kokichi’s internal narrative is Not Coping” gross. MAJOR emetophobia warning here. sorry. also sorry that this isn't. really fluffy. i am incapable of writing happy things set ingame. also ive been sick and i hate being sick and i must Project.

Something isn’t right.

Kokichi can tell the moment he wakes up; not because his head is stuffed full of cotton with bees shoved into the gaps between the cotton, and not because his nose is bleeding because his body is so goddamn hot, and not because that heat has left him shivering before he even opens his eyes, sweat coolled on his brow and his throat and practically dripping through his hair.

No, it’s because Kokichi wakes up, and as he has, every day in the killing game, he thinks _where are the others?_ And then he thinks _not here. The game._

And that’s when he’s supposed to get up and swing out of bed and face himself with a grin as he straps himself into his super-fun anime uniform and goes to review his notes and doodle on his pinboard and _perform,_ for every single stupid asshole watching him and his companions tear each other apart.

But today, Kokichi thinks _the game,_ and then he thinks, _DICE are in trouble,_ and then he thinks _DICE might not be real._

And then he starts crying.

“What the _fuck,”_ Kokichi chokes out, tears dribbling down his cheeks, his body curling up without his permission- foetal position, pathetic and weak and useless and god does he hate himself, he hates everything about this, this stupid headache and this stupid killing game and how even if any of his plans miraculously manage to work - what’s he thinking, why’s he thinking this, they _will_ work, they _have_ to- even if somehow everything pulls itself together and Iruma doesn’t kill him like she’s clearly been planning to, like how she’s been staring at him over his blueprints and muttering about how a genius like her should be helping the world and not some trussed up little twink- even if he manages to get them out of this (and from the current state of his plans, it’s more likely they all die here and that’s worth it, greater good and what the fuck ever, he can do it, he can-) 

Even if they get out of here now, six people are already dead.

Kokichi thinks about how Iruma wants to kill him and how it’s definitely a bit personal, and he sobs so hard that it makes his whole body heave, and then he’s retching over the side of his bed.

He pukes until his shoulders are trembling like the legs of a baby deer- and he feels like one, all wobbly and weak, like somewhere in the pile of (very little, who’s to say they’re not going to fucking poison him) half-digested rice and chilli sauce and probably some of his stomach lining, he puked up his entire sense of balance and also half his brain.

He sobs again, and almost falls right into it- overcome by such a crushing wave of _misery_ that all he can do is flop sideways and clutch at his blankets.

He wants DICE. He wants Ace to come and brush back his hair and Diamonds to force him to drink a whole bottle of water, and Queen to make some stupid, stupid joke about how pathetic he is that makes him laugh despite himself, and he wants Spades to hover in the corner and fidget like he really wants to help but doesn’t know how. He wants DICE, and he wants them so badly that it makes his whole body hurt, that the very fact that he will never, ever see them again pains him so much that the ache has seeped into his bones. It’s not just the headache and the nausea and the fever- there’s this pulsing, heavy thing that’s taken over his entire body, the kind of pain you get when for cry for so long you dehydrate yourself to pure exhaustion. Kokichi has only done that once in his life and it was a lie for sympathy. Kokichi only cries on command. Kokichi would chew off his right arm to be with DICE right now. To have DICE here.

And even thinking that makes him feel as evil as he pretends to be, the fact that he would even consider subjecting them to this fucking school pulled out of hell, would want them to have to live with this weight filling him up with tar, just out of some selfish, stupid desire to not be alone. But, oh god, he hates being alone- a supreme leader with no one to follow him, and all his brilliant plans are twisted up with death.

His mouth tastes of bile. Kokichi chokes on his own acid reflux and falls back into the bed to shiver. 

He doesn’t register falling asleep, but it must happen- because he wakes up what feels like a century later and has to dry heave again between sobs. He checks the time and finds that it’s- somehow- only five in the morning. He must have woken up in the middle of the night.

The sobbing eases up after a few minutes- it feels like every drop of liquid in him was shaken out, leaving his whole body hollow and throbbing. He has a few moments of something like peace- gripped by a paranoia that might be contributing to how he’s shaking, but he’s used to living with paranoia. 

Kokichi thinks _this is the worst possible time to be sick,_ and then he thinks _haha, this is a pretty bad joke,_ and then he thinks, _how will this affect my plans,_ and then he thinks about the fake, super not real, obvious stupid bad lie of the “outside world” and he’s so angry that he thinks he might drag his own teeth into broken ceramic shards with how hard he’s biting down.

He's got to get moving. He's got to go and grab medicine so he can keep moving forward. 

Kokichi falls out of bed, grips onto it like it's a lifeline as he heaves himself up, and sways a few steps forward before falling against the wall. He fumbles with his key, stumbling and crashing from wall to wall like he's blackout drunk, shuffling slowly out of the dorm. It's cold, and dim, and dark, and he can't stop thinking about what an easy target he is right now- how loud he must be, how clumsy, how out of it. The fear is paralyzing; he keeps being frozen in place by his own thoughts and then seared alive by the emotion that follows. Halfway into the school he starts laughing softly, dragging himself past the gym to school shop and immediately purchasing every kind of painkiller he can afford. He tries to swallow one dry but his gag reflex (insert ha-ha funny sex joke here) is so tender that he just can't manage it. 

He's back in front of the dorms, exhausted by the brief walk and still shaking with fear and covered in cooled sweat, when Monokuma shows up.

Kokichi is always angry when he sees Monokuma. He's just surprised but how much the anger inflames him right now. Violent, uncontrolled, animal. He advances on the robot all teeth and claws. "What. Did. You. Do."

Monokuma seems delighted to see him. "Ah, my favorite troublemaker! Feeling a little under the weather, are we?"

Kokichi grits his teeth to stop himself from trying to stomp it into the dirt. His knee bounces like his bones are going through turbulence. "I thought you weren't meant to let us die in boring ways. Well, I'm dying. Explain it. And fix it."

“Well... since _someone_ made off with the last motive and didn’t share with the class like a good boy,” Monokuma tuts, shaking its head. “I’ve had to scramble for a backup motive!” Its face suddenly darkens, and it steps forward, and Kokichi isn’t afraid of it, he isn’t, he will not let himself be scared by anything here- but he stumbles back anyway, falling right onto his ass. He swears he can feel his brain _thump_ in his head, like it’s been dropped into a pot of water and forgot to curve and dive. His teeth chatter. “It’s really annoying having to do this, you know! I didn’t want to have to reuse any old motives. But I’m sure this one will be a biiiiiiig hit!”

Kokichi drags himself up onto his side, even though it feels like the very movement is going to fucking kill him. He gathers up the drool in his mouth, slimy and feverish in his cheeks, and then he spits it out with a kind of force that makes him fall back.

It lands on the floor between them. Monokuma looks unimpressed.

“Fuck you,” Kokichi says.

Monokuma tuts, shaking its head. “But don’t you wanna know what’s wrong with you?”

Kokichi hates that bastard robot more than he’s ever hated anything.

“ _Despair disease,”_ Monokuma continues, like it’s revealing some kind of vital information before the end of an episode, like that means fucking anything to Kokichi. “It’ll kill you eventually, you know! Incurable. And from the looks of you…..” It leans over him, paws folded where its hips should be. “I give you a week at max. Your body’s pretty weak, huh?”

Kokichi means to laugh at it, but he’s too paralyzed with fear to think beyond _I can’t stop the game if I die like this._ He gasps for air, his lungs all seized up, turned to stone. “What’s wrong with- with my head.” He has to heave for air between the words, seconds away from shrieking in desperate and miserable emotions.

Monokuma tilts its head to the side. “Everyone gets a different strain!” It tells him, and its face never changes in any meaningful way, but Kokichi can practically feel the satisfied grin on its face. “Looks like you got the…. Emotional vulnerability disease.”

Kokichi snorts, and then splutters around another wave of nausea, trying to push himself off the floor. The whole world swims. “That’s a lie,” he tells it, the smile on his face all fixed there, his brain whirring away, everything he feels just- so much, so intimate- Kokichi isn’t meant to know his own mind this well. “That doesn’t even make _sense._ ”

Monokuma takes a step forward and he flinches back, the rush of fear so strong that there is no way to prevent his body from moving reflexively. The bear leans down, slowly glancing over his prone form, and Kokichi bites his lip hard to stop himself from whimpering. (And here’s another fun emotion- _shame,_ only Kokichi isn’t ashamed of anything and he doesn’t care how people perceive him as long as he gets what he wants. All he wants now, though, is to curl up and hide his gaze.) “You’re going to die here,” Monokuma tells him. “If you don’t snap and kill someone else. And you know that there’s no humanity out there waiting for you, huh? Everyone you cared about is gone.”

Kokichi’s nails curl and scrabble against the floor beneath him as tears drip down his face. It’s not even true, he _knows_ it’s not. Everything in here is a lie, but god, isn’t that equally depressing?

Monokuma giggles as he sobs and sniffs up his own phlegm, his head pulsing with heat. “The truth of the outside world, huh? What are you planning to do with that?”

Kokichi forces his gaze up, bites his trembling lip as another wave of tears send his heart dripping down through his veins. “Lie,” he spits. 

Monokuma looks over him again. “Good luck with that,” it says, and then it turns on its heel and steps down the corner of the hallway.  
Kokichi knows that if he looks, it would have already disappeared. So all he does is puddle on the ground and grip at the floor like if he tries hard enough, it might hold him back.

\--

He manages to pull himself together after a solid.... well, he's not sure how long, but it's long enough that drool has pooled beneath him and his head has started banging around like a mariachi band is performing in there.

Obviously, he can't meet the others like this, but he _does_ need to meet them, because he really, really needs to find out who else is infected and what's going on. Kokichi drags himself to his bathroom, downs four ibuprofen, and runs the shower all while gripping the edge of the sink and staring into the mirror like he's in the middle of a psychotic break. (Which, you know. Would be just his luck.) He tells himself "you can lie about anything. you can lie about this. they'll never know you're sick." while he stares in the mirror and watches the obvious signs of fever on his face. (He's well-acquainted with fevers. Clubs got a bad one every summer, without fail, and always infected Hearts soon after, and usually the rest of them.) 

He showers, and then feels slightly more alive, and slaps some concealer over his face, which then makes him feel worse, slimy and plastic-y. But he looks less red, and his headache has died a little, and after he dry-heaves into his toilet for about fifteen minutes, the alarm plays for breakfast and he has to stumble into his uniform, trying so hard to get his feet through the stupid, tight, pants, that he falls right over and then screams in anger and tries to tear them up, and then cries. Again. He doesn't even bother with the straps, today.

So Kokichi's late by the time he drags himself to breakfast, and he _knows_ he looks more bedraggled than normal, but he also doesn't think that justifies Harukawa taking one look at him when he steps in and saying "throw him with the others."

Apologizing, Shirogane takes his arm and makes him panic and startle in a way he _never, ever_ would do, carting him over to a table as he tries to squirm away, fighting back the mix of paranoia and dread creeping up his skin. Yumeno watches with mild interest from where she leans against a wall, as Kokichi is sat down at a table, across from Saihara.

Saihara smiles at him, and Kokichi's brain fixes and freezes up on _Saihara is smiling at me like he likes me,_ and his whole face goes red.

And then Momota roars and tries to bodyslam Kokichi directly into the shiny, clean floor.

Kokichi goes sprawling anyway, shrieking in fear and curling up reflexively, trying to cradle his head.

"Kaito!" Harukawa yells- Harukawa pinning Momota's arms down, crashing his face against the floor, holding him in place. She looks up at Kokichi like she really would have preferred to let Ouma squish him into a small, pink stain. "You can't kill anyone!"

"He's a fucking little liar!" Momota snarls, and their eyes meet for a moment- and Kokichi is met with a hot flash of rage and vitriol that makes him shrink backward and cover his head again. "I'll get him!"

"You're going to be executed!" She says, cuffing him across the back of his head like a disobedient animal. "Pull yourself together!"

Saihara, still at the table, stirs his coffee casually, watching the scene with that same, placid smile. "Kaito, you're such a mess." He laughs- Saihara, Saihara Shuichi, Saihara laughing - and casually brushes back his hair. "This isn't anything like you."

Kokichi glances between them both, forcing himself to swallow the bubble of fear in his throat. "What's wrong with them?"

"Saihara-kun has the cheerfulness disease," Kiibo informs him. "And Momota-kun has the wrathful disease."

Kokichi stares at that stupid fucking robot with his stupid fucking antenna and wants to smash his stupid robot body into pieces. "That is so _unfair!"_

"Why?" Harukawa asks, her eyes sharp as she looks up from her grapple of idiot Momota. "What disease did you get?"

"Horny disease," Iruma cuts in, cackling.

Kokichi, still too angry to process it properly, sends a snarl over in her direction that has her shrieking and leaning back. "Hateful disease," he tells her.

Kiibo tilts his head. "You don't seem that hateful."

"I'm always hateful," Kokichi tells him, and it feels real, right now, as he picks himself off the ground and watches Momota struggle to try and spring on him again. "I'm just usually better at hiding it." He grins, all sharp teeth, and he is so filled with rage that it adds another layer to how sick he's feeling.

Saihara sighs happily, leaning his chin in his hands. "I'm glad I got my disease," he says. "That sounds upsetting, to be angry all the time!" He pauses, and his smile doesn't fade but his bright, reddened eyes soften a little. "Although Ouma-kun is definitely lying."

Kokichi hisses at him (what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck) and Saihara _laughs._ Like Kokichi's an angry cat or something. Like he thinks it's cute. 

"He's always lying," Yumeno says, grumpily. "Maybe he got the lying disease."

"It's the emotional vulnerability disease, actually!" 

Monokuma pops up out of seemingly nowhere and Kokichi almost falls off the seat again, flinching so hard his shoulder pops. Saihara laughs again. 

"Emotional vulnerability?" Harukawa says, frowning. 

The headmaster nods cheerfully, swinging its paws. "Mhm~! Pretty unlucky for a liar, huh?"

"So he's feeling all vulnerable right now?" Iruma asks, already grinning, and Kokichi's whole body is a mix of anger and paranoia now. "Can we hurt his feelings? Hey, shrimp-dick! You're a cuck! A tiny, baby, shota cuck! Twink bitch! I bet you cry during sex!"

Kokichi smiles at her again, sharply. "Wrong. That just made me angry."

She goes very quiet.

"Fucking pathetic loser!" Momota shouts from the ground, squirming under Harukawa. "Come here and fight like a man!" 

Kokichi stares at him with utter derision. Maybe this will be fine after all. He forgot that he tended to be more frustrated than sympathetic whenever he spent time with his more foolish peers. He can do this. He just needs to focus on staying angry, and determined, and rolling with those emotions so he can come off- if not controlled, at least not weak.

Then Saihara reaches across the table to ruffle Kokichi's hair, humming softly. "Come on, guys," he says. "Be nice to him, okay? Ouma-kun's probably scared." He smiles, and Kokichi's heart goes _thump,_ and Saihara looks at him so fondly and so softly that he thinks he might be dying. "Even if he's awful, that doesn't mean you have to be awful back."

And then Kokichi bursts into tears and Momota starts yelling again, and Shuichi hurries around the table to comfort him, which makes him cry _more,_ and his shoulders are shaking with humiliation and he's blushing and his nose is bleeding again and he's trying to hide his face in the hands and the more stupid he behaves, the more overwhelmed he becomes, and the more stupid he behaves, and Momota is still yelling and it's so loud it's so loud his head hurts he can't even think-

"Jesus christ," he vaguely registers Harukawa say. "We need to get them into quarantine before I kill them myself."

\--

So Kokichi ends up in the sick room, which is the _last_ place he wants to be. Their makeshift hospital is actually just Saihara’s room, and some dead person's room next door- that's where Momota is shut up. They can hear him raging through the thin walls, and every time he hears the muffled sounds of shouting or crashing at the door, Kokichi's heard pounds so loud it deafens him. 

Saihara's room is largely empty- clean, compared to his, with a stock of food and water and medicine set up. Harukawa watches Kokichi distrustfully as the group lingers at the door and makes a soft schedule to follow, times to check in and times to leave, how best to keep the quarantine. Saihara, chipper and enthusiastic, offers helpful suggestions from across the room and tries to hold Kokichi's hand. Kokichi blushes like a schoolgirl and blames the fever when he has to go lie down and hide his face in his pillow.

He falls asleep, again, for a while, and when he wakes up the others are gone and Saihara is sitting on the bed next to him. The room has turned dim- how long was he out? - and there's a bowl by the bed, probably ready to be puked into. Kokichi reaches over and drinks half the bottle of water on the night stand, gasps and wipes his mouth, and then flops back into the sheets. He feels so gross that it's making him feel even more sick.

“Kokichi.” Saihara’s smiling over at him, so open and friendly. Unnatural. Saihara does not smile like that at Kokichi. He doesn’t use his first name, either. “It’ll be okay.”

Kokichi’s stomach rolls. Emotional vulnerability his ass. His emotions never know what they’re doing- he feels simultaneously like he’s going to start laughing and like he’s being stabbed in the gut. 

But Saihara looks so nice, from this awkward horizontal angle. Kokichi finds himself smiling back, instead. And then he’s wrecked with another set of shivering.

“Are you cold?” Saihara asks, shuffling closer. He reaches out to Kokichi’s sweaty, sweaty forehead, and strokes back the hair plastered to his forehead. “Your fever’s bad.”

“S-so is yours,” Kokichi stutters out, and the one fucking good thing about this stupid fever is that he can blame it for the way his face bursts into bloom, the way his heart has suddenly started pounding at his chest. He’s got to stop this, now. If sadness and fear are useless emotions, whatever _this_ is (love, love, singing in his ears, look at him Saihara, look forever, bird wings beating at his arms, he just wants to smile forever-) this is even more useless. He manages to push himself up, and the movement makes the whole world sway dangerously, but Saihara is there to catch his arm and Kokichi’s whole world turns over as he sighs in utter adoration.

And then he catches himself. “Saihara, we’ve got to.” Not kiss. “Figure this out. You know why we have the disease, right?”

“Hmm.” The detective hums happily, as if his face isn’t covered in fever, stained in sickness, his pupils all blown wide and his skin slick with unnatural sweat. “You, me, and Kaito! It’s the best set-up for a murder. Kaito’s all angry now…” He trails off in a laugh, glancing over at the wall between the two rooms, and slumps sideways against the pile of pillows. “And I’m gonna… be kind of out of it until they cure me for an investigation, so now Maki has no one looking after her… And you’re vulnerable.” His eyes fix back onto Kokichi’s, and they soften, although he doesn’t stop smiling. “Ringleader’s probably mad because you stole the motive.”

Kokichi grits his teeth. He’d been planning to make use of it if they’d given him more time. Asshole. And this might throw a wrench into his plans, too… he’ll just say it was more exciting like this. He can lie about that. He’s going to fuck everything up and die. He hates this so much.

“You’re shaking again.” That’s all the warning Kokichi gets before Saihara is hugging him- the movement is gentle and unsteady, but it’s enough to send the pair of them toppling sideways. “It’ll be okay! Aren’t you the one always having fun with the game?”

Kokichi laughs, snickering into Saihara’s shoulder. The normally-reserved detective is clinging onto him like a barnacle- it’s almost as funny as the idea he’s enjoying the game- which isn’t funny, it’s a great lie that he really believes in!

Kokichi’s laughter turns into something a little too shaky when his throat starts to get tight. He clutches right back at Saihara, clinging onto him and not-quite sniffling. Saihara laughs, too. Kokichi’s head hurts.

“You know,” he says, and another snicker breaks through. “You’re going to be so embarrassed about this when you feel better.”

Saihara- nervous, quiet, borderline _emo_ Saihara- straight up giggles at that, anime schoolgirl, a little sheepish. “Probably!” He pauses, then releases Kokichi- or tries to, because Kokichi clutches closer at his shirt with sticky fingers and snuggles up. “Part of me is still nervous. I know that I’m sick and that we’re in danger. And I know, logically…” He trails off for a moment, and Kokichi notes how he seems to struggle to put the words together, jaw going slack for a moment- how much is illness and how much is his distorted mind? “That it’s not good. And that feeling like this-” once again he breaks off in a giggle, like he’s _high,_ “isn’t real. It’s not me. But I haven’t felt this content in…. Ever!”  
Saihara smiles, his eyes creasing right up like he’s never been more delighted. “I’m just trying to enjoy it. You should too, you know! You’re… emotionally vulnerable. That means you can be vulnerable to being happy!” His gaze drifts for a moment, equal parts thoughtful and sickly. “I can’t tell if you’re secretly always happy or secretly always sad.”

That’s a stupid question. What does it matter what Kokichi is doing secretly? He is what he wants to be.

Except right now, when he doesn’t feel like laughing anymore, when he just feels like curling up and closing his eyes. 

“You don’t like me,” he tells Saihara, and then he sobs, because he wants Saihara to like him _so badly._ It’s enough to get any kind of attention from him, even when Saihara thinks he’s the worst, is scolding him for needling Momota, shutting down his lies in a trial. 

But Kokichi still likes it best when they’re playing games together. He still kept the bandage on his finger until it was hanging on by a thread, wound all healed. He likes it when he can get a surprised laugh, or can make Saihara think about him- all subdued and thoughtful, not smiling but _thinking about him,_ about Kokichi, and not because they’re in a trial or Kokichi is playing ringleader.

Kokichi can’t think about stuff like this. He can’t want anything more than destruction, because destruction is all he’ll get. He’s got to lie. He’s got to love what he’s got, dig his fingers into the scraps until he’s got icing stuck all over his fingers, kick and cling and drag some kind of heart out of the waste just to crush it between his palms. 

Kokichi can’t _think_ like this.

“Not usually,” Saihara says, and Kokichi sobs again, clinging to his shirt, burying his face, snot and tears and blood, against the detective’s shoulder. And Saihara rubs his back, feathers the ends of his hair in this dreamy, absent-minded way, and Kokichi wishes so badly that this was something he could afford to love that it hurts.  
He loves, anyway. It’s not real. He hasn’t known Saihara long enough to establish something _real._ It’s a lie, the way his heart speeds up, the way his face is pink and he wants to bury himself in his skin. It’s because Saihara is smart, and _necessary,_ and Kokichi has to rely on him. He’s stockholm-syndromed himself, with this boy with pretty eyes and a soft tongue, and he can’t stop caring completely so he’s put all of it into Saihara, who is the only person who tolerates him, really, and the only person who tries to figure him out, and the only person who is smart enough to get through the trials properly. Everything Kokichi feels is a lie, because you can’t really love someone in a place like this. All Kokichi can offer is his guts, twisted up and candied, and his blood that turns to sugar when Saihara looks at him thoughtfully. 

(He thinks about his dead body- not that there’ll be much to see, ideally, but what if there is. What if there’s enough that his unseeing eyes stare up at Saihara and blood drips from his pale lips. Saihara will really think about him, then. He won’t forget Kokichi, if he sees him dead. Maybe he’ll turn into something like Akamatsu-san; a martyr of the worst kind. Someone Saihara can fear and hate and adore. It’s frightening how pleased the idea makes him.)

“But you’re usually trying to make people not like you,” Saihara continues. “I like you when you’re not doing that.”

“It’s not all on purpose,” Kokichi mumbles, rolling the words around his mouth, stuck in the cotton in his cheeks. “I’m just a liar.”

“You cry a lot,” Saihara says. “I would have thought you swung between emotions a lot more.”

“It’s the disease,” Kokichi lies. “It makes me cry as a response to most things. They want to make me look weaker.” He laughs, _ni~shi~shi~,_ and his voice hitches like he’s forgotten how.

Saihara hums and tugs softly at his hair. “Maybe you’re just sad.”

“I’m not sad,” Kokichi says, crying. “It’s the disease.”

“It’s okay to be sad. I’m sad a lot.”

“I know.” A pause. “Your girlfriend died.”

“She wasn’t my girlfriend. I wish she hadn’t.”

“She tried to kill someone.”

“She wanted to save us.”

“Would you kill someone to save us?”

“Sometimes I think about if she’d actually killed the mastermind.”

“Yeah?”

“I wish she had.”

Saihara laughs. Kokichi listens to the way it sounds with his ear pressed to his neck. He’s so tired. Saihara is rubbing his back, now. It feels nice. He closes his eyes.

“We’re going to die,” he mumbles, and he doesn’t know if he means the disease, or the game, or the world outside. 

Saihara, who has both arms around him now, Kokichi almost in his lap, thighs bracketing his hips, pets his hair again. “Kaito won’t let that happen.”

When Kokichi sneers, this isn’t a difficult play. It’s not a lie, the condescension on his face, the anger when he lifts his head from Saihara’s neck. “He let seven other people die up to this point. And now he has the same disease we do. He’s got no say in who dies.”

Saihara just smiles, guileless, fevered, his eyes all sparkly. Kokichi hates Momota. “I trust him.”

“You trust him too much. You rely on other people too much.” Kokichi laughs, derisive, shoves Saihara’s hands away when he tries to pull at his hair again. “When was the last time you _actually_ took some action to stop the ringleader?”

Saihara blinks. He looks genuinely surprised. Kokichi doesn’t give him a chance to say something just as saccharine and stupid as before.

“You were making traps before Akamatsu died,” Kokichi says, and he’s so _frustrated_ but it doesn’t matter, because it’s good- it’s good that Saihara isn’t interfering with Kokichi’s traps. “Now you just follow Momota and Harukawa around and investigate what they hand to us. You think there’s actually going to be anything useful for escaping in the new parts of the school they open? Don’t make me _laugh.”_ He laughs anyway, bitter and rough in his throat- and then he’s overcome with nausea and sways into Saihara’s arms like some Victorian lady with hysteria. His lips catch on the detective’s neck when he speaks, but he’s too angry and overwhelmed to even be gross and sappy about it. “Momota always gives them what they want. He’s such a good little protagonist. It’s so- _boring.”_ That’s the only word he can find for it. Predictable. Stupid. Pointless, only it’s good- Kokichi relies on that pointlessness. Why is he so angry about everyone working perfectly into his plans? Why is he angry about Iruma trying to kill him when he knows that it’s good that she’s going to do that?

Saihara is quiet for a moment, like he’s thinking about it. He starts rubbing Kokichi’s back again. “I don’t want to lose Kaito like I lost Akamatsu-san.” His voice has dipped into something icky and gooey and sentimental and Kokichi hates it. “She was really important to me. She made me braver.”

“No, she didn’t,” Kokichi says, because it’s better than saying _Momota will go out exactly like Akamatsu did, because that’s the sort of person they are. If I have any say in it, he’ll be a little more effective, though._ “You felt braver because you had something to lean on. It’s like someone strapped a pair of wings to you and now you think you have the power to fly.” He frowns, staring at the hem of Saihara’s shirt, tracing a circle into the fabric just above his hipbone and listening to him laugh softly. “You don’t, not really. As soon as someone takes the wings away, you’re just as weak as before. Maybe weaker, because you’ve forgotten what it’s like not to fly.” Kokichi thinks about the ways Saihara might break if Momota dies- if Momota succumbs to his disease and murders or simply gives out, or if someone comes to kill him in the night. It could happen. It could happen right now. 

“Hmm.” Saihara draws the word out, still with that unnaturally cheery tone. His skin is so hot and so sweaty. Kokichi thinks they’re plastered together at this point- cheek to neck, like peeling apart will tear them open. “I’m not with Kaito all the time, you know.”

“Noooooo, I thought you were conjoined bros,” Kokichi drawls, rubbing his face against Saihara’s throat, just to prove a point. His stomach is rolling all over the place. He thinks he’s seasick. He has a sudden and overpowering urge to tell Saihara he loves him, and to smile about it when he does.  
It’s fortunate that the anger simmering in his stomach is equally powerful.

“All of you make me stronger,” Saihara says, and it’s so sappy and so cliche that Kokichi blames his nausea on that, not the disease. “I like being friends with you.”

Kokichi wants to smirk and tell Saihara he’s beneath him, or flutter his eyelashes and act overly pleased. Instead he just makes this tiny sound like someone kicked him in the stomach and lets tears leak all over Saihara’s adam’s apple. Saihara’s arms wind around him to hold him tighter. 

“It’ll be okay,” Saihara goes on in this awful, soft voice, like he’s trying to comfort Kokichi. Kokichi doesn’t think anyone has ever spoken to him like this before- quiet and unbearable and false. Saihara wouldn’t do this if he wasn’t sick. Momota would never rage and yell like he is in the room over. (But he is, isn’t he. And Kokichi is crying. It’s a lie, but he’s still crying.)

Kokichi is perfectly happy to take a nice lie over a shitty truth. But Saihara has no autonomy here, and neither does he- not really. He barely feels lucid.

“It’s alright,” he goes on, and Kokichi can only weep, and that weeping isn’t true either- he will not believe that there is something so weak and tender sleeping under his controlled personality. Monokuma can make him more vulnerable, but that doesn’t make these emotions real- _no_ emotions are real. 

They feel real, though. He feels like he’s dissolving into pixels, melting into a screen and flaking apart. No matter how tight or how hard he grips onto Saihara’s shirt, there is no way to tether himself here. Saihara rubs his back and Kokichi goes floating into space, drifting by Momota’s constellations, and he hates them and he hates himself and he hates Saihara too, a little bit, and he doesn’t know why that hate isn’t making him angry. He hopes Saihara is the mastermind, because then all his feelings would be even more of a lie, and he could write them off like he’s striking through one of his plans. He hopes Saihara isn’t the mastermind, because it might kill him a little. He wants Saihara to live- so, so badly.

Saihara hushes him and strokes between his shoulderblades and hums a few bars of a happy little tune and Kokichi is struck by how tired he is. He yawns. Kokichi only ever yawns to show boredom. But he yawns, and Saihara laughs, quietly.  
“You should rest,” he says, laying his palm flat on Kokichi’s back. 

Kokichi tucks his head up, stares with empty eyes at the corner of Saihara’s shoulder, the flap of fabric folded against his arm. He wants to hold it between his thumb and knuckle. He wants to rub it against his skin. He wants to know if it smells like Saihara. Is he happy, right now? He wants Saihara to hold him. Saihara is holding him.  
“I don’t sleep much,” he says.

Saihara nods, chin brushing the top of Kokichi’s head. Every part of his skin feels hot. “That makes sense,” he says, simply. “But having emotions is tiring.”

Kokichi laughs, and it’s not his supervillain laugh or his signature snicker, but it’ll do. “You say that like I don’t have emotions normally.”

“Sometimes it feels like you don’t!” Saihara laughs, too. Kokichi’s heart tries to kill itself in the middle of his ribcage. He wheezes a little, and Saihara laughs again. “I have so many emotions. I wish I didn’t!”

“Right now you don’t,” Kokichi says. “You’re fake-happy. You’re basically high.” He lifts his head to look at the detective again, and almost immediately wishes he hadn’t. The whole world seems to sway, and Kokichi is love-drunk, swooning, delirious with something more than fever. He almost kisses him. 

Saihara is smiling, red-faced but not embarrassed, dripping with sweat. His hair is plastered to his forehead, his gaze a little off-center. He’s smiling like he’s never been worried about anything in his life. He smells pretty bad, but Kokichi’s not in a state to judge.  
Kokichi thinks _I wish we had met anywhere else._ He doesn’t cry, though. He’s too busy staring, and tears would make it harder to look. 

“Maybe,” Saihara says. “I feel like I’m thinking clearly, but I know I’m not! And I’m not worried about that, which should make me worry- that I’m not. But I’m not worried about that, either. I know it’s not good.”

“It’s bad,” Kokichi says, watching Saihara’s chapped lips move. Someone should kiss him. Kokichi shouldn’t- can’t- but someone should. “They’re going to kill us.”

“How about I go block the door?” Saihara offers. Kokichi blinks. Saihara gestures to the shelving off by the side. “I can write a note and push that in front of the door. That way, they can wake us up before they come in. And Maki can break down the door if she needs to.”

“So we’re not safe from her,” Kokichi says, shuddering. He’s so scared of Harukawa. Saihara laughs.

“You’re not safe from her anywhere,” he points out. “C’mon, help me move it.”

Kokichi stares. This is a stupid idea. It’s not enough, and it’ll make the others worry, and if something goes wrong they probably won’t be able to get help fast enough.  
But it makes him feel a little safer, and Saihara is holding out a hand.

It takes them a while- swaying, staggering, moving almost drunkenly over the room. Saihara pins a wobbly note to the other side of the door and then has to close his eyes and lay down to manage the headache for a while, giggling when Kokichi anxiously tugs at him to make sure he’s not dying. The shelves are moved slowly, an inch at a time, and Kokichi really isn’t helping- just slumping his whole weight against them and hoping it helps pressure them forward. 

When they’re done, his whole body aches and he feels so tired it’s hard to keep his eyes open. Saihara coaxes him back over to the bed with soft words and doesn’t complain when Kokichi demands to double check their supplies, counting and recounting the painkillers. They fall into bed almost literally, lying parallel, staring at each other. Kokichi’s eyes fight to close and he fights them back. 

Saihara reaches out to brush hair from his face, still smiling. “It’s alright,” he repeats.

Kokichi nods once, his eyes dropping closed like they’d been given permission by some higher power. “Sleep,” he mumbles. “When there’s another trial… you’ll need to recover fast.”

“We always come out fine,” Saihara says, happily.

“People die,” Kokichi says, forcing one eye open. “That’s not fine.”

Saihara nods, thoughtful. “But not as many as could die, right? And we’re all okay now.”

Kokichi’s body sighs without his conscious decision. “You’re stupider when you’re happy,” he mumbles. 

“You’re more honest when you’re tired,” Saihara counters, and some of Kokichi’s alarm must show on his face, because he tilts his head. “You’re afraid of being honest?”

Yes. No. I love you. 

Kokichi closes his eyes again, because that way his face will have one less point of expression. “Saihara-chan,” he says, and then he stops. “I,” where was he going? He’s tired. He’s been tired for such a long time. Was he always this sad? “You should hold me."

"Okay," Saihara says, like it's no big deal, and he shuffles closer and fits his thin arms around Kokichi's waist, pulling him close. He practically nuzzles against Kokichi's cheek, like a dog, and Kokichi splutters in laughter and shoves him away and melts a little. "You're nicer like this," Saihara says, laughing too. 

Kokichi wrinkles his nose, disgruntled, and Saihara flicks it playfully. "You're weird like this," he replies. "I like you better when you're stammering and panicking."   
(That's a lie. Sort of. A little bit. Does it matter? Kokichi likes Saihara during the trials, the best. Is that fucked up? Maybe he likes Saihara bandaging his finger and playing his games even better than that. He can't think of it right now.)

"I can try to stammer now, if you want?" Saihara offers, tilting his head. Kokichi has to look away, hot and cold all over.

"Just shut up and go to sleep," he says. 

"Mm."

Saihara shuffles a little, arranging the blankets around their shoulders so that his are covered without also smothering Kokichi's face. Kokichi shuts his eyes at some point, and he knows he's going to sleep soon, whether he likes it or not. 

"Hey." 

He gets one eye open to look at Saihara, whose smile has gone all soft- like it might melt from his face at any moment, marshmallow. 

"It's okay to cry. And to be sad, and frightened. If you ever need to, you can come and be sad with me."

Kokichi closes his eye again. There's too much to say in response to that, and if he thinks too hard, he's going to cry again.

So instead of focusing on why he can't do that, why it's stupid to even think that he would want to, he focuses on the sensation filling his chest, swelling up like a balloon. How, for just a moment, his whole body feels pleasantly warm. 

He curls into Saihara and lies, just for a moment, to himself, about something small and stupid and meaningless.   
He tells himself that he'll get to keep this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then they bonded over the week in quarantine until miu probably tried to kill someone else and after they were cured saihara stuck around with kokichi who wasnt able to pull off his standard trial 4 plan and canon diverts bc now saihara has decided he trusts kokichi and is also worried about him. and kokichi has to adjust his plans. and they both survive and it's good and kokichi pines for ages but its a killing game so nothing happens until they've escaped and then they k-kiss and h*hld h*nds. and i want to write this but i probably won't at least for a while. 
> 
> anyway yeah after this they fall in love and both live and it's fine and this is canon :,)

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr, instagram, and ko-fi are all at unseeliekey!!!!!!!! 
> 
> happy birthday mister saihara! sorry i only got 1/7th of your present out on time. in my defense you would have wanted me to study instead.


End file.
